stolen property
by Rozewater
Summary: in the still of the night, Skye realizes some heavy truths; for once in his life, he decides against a bit of "stealing". - skye/jill


The air was sweet and the sand soft on a quaint, Spring night. The moon shone high in the heavens, and Skye felt his tight chest relax some. As the gust of breath left his lungs, in exited in a faint sigh. The night was old. And so was he.

He wasn't the witty, charming man he once was. His sweet words now came though clenched teeth and his hair had long lost its silver sheen. Raising his murky blue eyes to the stars above, he narrowed his lids at the astounding sight. How dare those orbs of gleaming light be so happy? Who were they, inanimate objects, to hold more light than his soul did? Just as his hands were forming into fists as they clenched in the sand, he realized how stupid he was being. They were nothing but fragments of galactic matter. Billions and billions of miles away. Being envious of a chuck of gas on fire was stupid. They never lasted long, anyway. They would have their bright moment and then promptly implode.

…Implode…

Skye looked to his fingers, which were still sifting though the golden grains of eroded rock. The smooth texture wasn't enough to distract his swirling thoughts. "Implode". Not unlike what he had done to himself, in some ways. A grim smile twisted his lips, and he let the floodgates open on the demons in his mind.

_"You were once something great. Now you're a pawn in an old game long outplayed."_

_"Destructive habits my ass. It was your soul and you sold it!"_

_"Who were you to think time wasn't your owner as well?"_

The last one racked him the most, but the desolate smirk didn't leave his features. He was Time's bitch. And there was nothing more to it. Everyone was! The spring in his step and the rose of his cheeks was bound to vanish like fog in the morn. It wasn't until it was too late did Skye realize how he had depended on it. His young joy, the youthful essence he used to own… It had been his identity, his keeper of sanity. It had been what he had built his life around, for his occupation had demanded it.

He had once been called the great Phantom Thief. But the Skye who sat on the damp sands now was not of that title.

For the man who quietly sat now was just that: a man. The Thief had been nothing but a foolish boy.

But that didn't change the present. It still lingered in his heart, like the first moments of waking and a dream lingers on the edges of your consciousness. How often the days were now he longed to jump back into the dream. Imagine the possibilities! With the life knowledge he knew now and the strength his muscles had possessed then… He would have been unstoppable. Even thinking about it! His thighs clenched, as if ready to spring to his feet! His heart beat all the faster, his shoes found their footing in the sand, his eyes widened as he readied to rise and - …But wait.

His legs might have prepared, but his knees and joints ached deeply. His heart hammered but it made him uncomfortably short of breath. His feet attempted to fly into action, but they slipped just as easily on the slippery sand, causing Skye to thump unceremoniously back to his buttocks. He sighed. But his eyes were still wide to the world and the what-ifs he can just relived – however briefly. Yet it was always so painfully clear. Even if he had pushed his aging body to the limits, it wouldn't have mattered in the end. To go off to the flighty life again would be all but a crime in itself.

The Thief had been his own. But Skye today was sold property. And leaving would be "illegal".

"Skye… Baby? You 'right?" He knew the tone instantly; it was pointless to turn around. Her voice was so soft, so delicate. It reminded him of spider webs blowing in a breeze of late fall. That same remembrance of autumn reminded him of other things as well, though. Violin music, flower petals, soft and shy smiles, white dresses… A day when "I do", had translated to "I will be born again – for you".

"Jill," he whispered back to her, his gaze still sucked into the sky high above him. Gently patting the patch of sand next to him, her slim figure found its way to him in the darkness. She sat.

"You've been out for awhile. I was worried about you…" Her hand found his in the no-light and grasped it firmly. Crumbles of dirt dug into his palm, tokens from the fruit of her labors. Jill was a farmer; her working gloves were worn well. Skye felt her come closer, not being able to tell from sight, but from her body heat telling him her position. His cheek temporarily flushed as her soft lips met it, and he briefly remembered the "roses" in the skin of his youth. "Baby…I'm talking to you."

"I'm sorry, love," he whispered back after a moments pause. "You know I never mean to make my beautiful maiden fret…" She giggled faintly at his fancy titles, and he rested his head on her shoulder. Jill stroked his hair with her free hand, and in that moment Skye didn't care if he found bits of soil in his locks later on. Perhaps Jilly would give him the pleasure of fishing some out for him later. And as she began to hum a gentle lullaby under her breath, he found himself looking down at their intertwined hands. In the easy starlight, the band of gold on the third finger of his left hand glistened.

Nodding to himself, he thought sincerely:

_It is a heavy item…_


End file.
